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Class. 



Author. 



Title 



Imprint. 



THE DREAM 

A TRAGEDY, IN PROSE, 



IN THREE ACTS. 



£Y JOANNA BAIILIE. 



if torn the first London edition^ of 1812,] 



NEW. YORK : 

PUBLISHED BY THE LONGWORTHS^ 

At the Dramatic Repository, 
Shakspeare Gallery^ 



Aug.^l9n^ 






p 



DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 



Osterloo, an imperial general^ 
Prior of the monastery , 
Benedict, "^ 
Jerome, > monks. 
Paul, 3 

IVIorand, > officers in the service 
Wovelreid, > of the priory 
The Imperial Ambassador, 



Leonora, 
Agnes, 



Officers serving under Osterloo. 
Sexton, monks, soldiers, peasants, &c. 



SCENE— the monastery of st. Maurice, in Swila^er- 
land — a castle near it. 

TIME— the middle of the 14th century. 



THE DREAM- 



A C T I. 



SCENE I— a court within<t monastery^ with a grated 
iron gate opening into an outer court^ through 
which are seen several peasants waiting, / 

jEROiME walking backwards and forwards in a dis- 
turbed manner, then stopping and speaking to hini- 
self 

Jer. Twice in one night the same awful vision re- 
peated ! and Paul also terrified with a similar visita- 
lion ! this is no common accidental mimicry of sleep : 
the shreds and remnants of our daj'-thoughts, put to- 
gether at night in some fantastic incongruous form, aB 
the drifting clouds of a brokea-up fctorm piece them- 
selves again into uncertain shapes of rocks and ani 
mals. No, no ! there must be some great and mo- 
mentous meaning in this. 

enter BV.JHE.'Dicr behind him^ 

Ben. Some great and momentous meaning in this ! 
what art thou musing upon ? 

Jer. Be satisfied ! be satisfied ! it is not always fitting 
that the mind should lay open the things it is busy 
withal, though an articulate sound may sometimes es- 
cape it to set curiosity on the rack* Where is brother 
Paul ? is he still at his devotions ? 

Ben. I believe so. But look where the poor peasants 
are waiting without : it is the hour when they expect 
our benefactions* Go, and speak to them : thou hast 
always been their favorite confessor, and th^y want 
consolation, (beckoning the peasants^ who thereupon 
advance through the gate., xchih Jerome streiches ctfi 
% hand to prevent them) 
A? 



«* THE [BailKe 

JtT. Stop there ! come not within the gates ! I 
charge you advance no farther, (to Benedict angrily) 
There is death and contagion in ever^ one of them, 
and yet thou would'st admit them so near us. Dost 
thou indeed expect a miracle to be wrought in our be- 
half? are we not flesh and blood ? and does not the grave 
yawn for us as well as other men ? {to the peasants^ 
still more vthementlyf^ turn, I charge you, and retire 
without the gate. 

I St Peas. Oh ! be not so stern with us, good father ! 
there are ten new corpses in the village since yester- 
day, and scarcely ten men left in it wi^h strength 
enongh to bury them. The best half of the village are 
now under ground, who, but three weeks gone by, were 
all alive and well. O do not chide us away ! 

2d Peas. God knows if any of us shall ever enter 
these gates again ; and it revives us to come pnce a day 
to receive your blessings, good fathers. 

Jer. Well, and you shall have our blessing, my chil- 
dren ; but come not so near us ; we are morlal men like 
yourselves, and there is contagion about you. 

\st Peas. Ah ! no, no ! saint Maurice will take care 
of his own ; there is no fear o( you. fathers. 

Jer. 1 hope he will ; but it is presumptuous to tempt 
danger. Retire, t beseech you, and you shall have re- 
lief given to you without the gates, if you have any 
love for us, retire, (the peasants retire) 

Ben, Well, I feel a strong faith within me^ that our 
^aint, or some other good spirit, will take care of us. 
How is it that thou art so alarmed and so vehement 
with those good people ? it is not thy usual temper. 

Jer. Be satisfied, I pray thee : I cannot tell thee now. 
I^eave me to myself a little while Would to god 
brother Paul were come to me ! ha ? here he is. 

enter paul, 

(Jerome^ after waiting im^dfientlj/ till Benedict retires ^ 
advances to Aim eagerly) Was it to a spot near the 
black monument in the stranger's burying vault, that it 
■wintcd ? 



Act n DREAM ^ 

Paul. Yes, to the very spot described by thee yester- 
day morning, when thou first told'st me thy dream ; 
and, indeed, every circumstance of my last night's vi- 
sion strongly resembled thine ; or rather, I should say, 

was the same. The fixed frown of it's ghastly face ^^ 

^ Jer. Ay, and the majestic motion of its limbs. Did 
it not wear a mantle over its right shoulder, as if for 
concealment rather than grace ? 

Fa?jL I know not ; I did not mark that : but it strode 
before me as distinctly as ever mortal irian did before 
my waking sight ; and yet as no mortal m^tn ever did 
before the waking sight. 

Jer But it appeared to thee only once, 

Paul. Only once ; for i waked under such a deep 
horror, that I durst not go to sleep again. 

Jer. When it first appeared to me, as I told thee, the 
night before last, the form, though distinctly, was bu». 
faintly in\aged forth ; and methought it rose more pow- 
erfully to my imagination as I told it to thee, than in 
the dream itself. But last night, lyhen it returned, it 
was far more vivid than before. 1 waked mdeed, as 
thou did'st, impressed with a deep horror, yet irresistible 
sleep seized upon me again ; and, o, how it appeared to 
me the third time, like a palpable, horrid reality ! (af- 
ter a pause) what is to be done ? 

Paul. What can be done ? we can stop no division of 
the imperial army till one shall really march by this pass. 

Jer, \nd this is not likely ; for I received a letter 
from a friend two days ago by an express messenger, 
who says, he had delayed sending it, hoping to have it 
conveyed to me by one of count Osterloo's soldiers ; 
who, with his division, should have marched thro^igh 
pur pass, but was now, he believed, to conduct them 
by a different route. 

Paul. What noise and commotion is that near the 
gate? ( calling tq t/iQse without) ho, there ! what is 
the matter? \ 

bn 1st Peas, (withoit) Nothing, father ; but we hear a 
itrompet at a 4istai:^ce, and they say, there is an armv 
tnarcliing amongst the mountains. 



S THE [Baiih^ 

Jer, By all oar holy saints if it be so— are ye sure 
lit is trumpets you hear? 

\sl Peas, (zoit/wui) As sure as we ever heard any 
sound, and here is a lad too, who saw from the top 
most crag, with his own eyes, their banners waving at 
a distance. 

Jer, What think*st thou of it ? 

Paul. We must go to the prior, and reveal the 
whole to him directly. Our own lives and those of 
the whole hrotherhood depend upon it ; there can be 
no hesitation now. 

Jer, Come then ; lose no time. We have a solemn 
duty imposed upon us. lejceurit 



SCENE II — aw open space by the gate of ihe monastery ^ 
with a viezv of t/ie building on one side, -while rocks 
and mountains^ wildly grand ^ appear in every other 
direction^ and a narrow pass through the moun- 
tains opening at a distance — several peasants, both 
men and wo nen, are discovered^ waiting as if to 
jec some sight— a trumpet and wxrlike music heard. 

enter peasants. 

\st Peas Hear how it echoes amongst the rocks * 
it is your true warlike sound, that makes a man's heart 
atir within him, and his feet beat the ground to its meas- 
ure. 

2d Peas. Ah ! what have our hearts to do with it 
now, miserable as we are ! 

1st Peas. What have we to do with it ! speak for thy- 
self. Were I to be laid in the grave this very night, it 
would rouse me to hear those sounds which remind me 
of the battle of Laupen. 

2d Peas, Well ; look not so proudly at me: though 
I have not yet fought for my country, I am of a good 
stock nevertheless : my father lost his life at Merp^ar- 
ten. (calling up to Morand, zvho now appears sliding 
down the sides of the rocks) Are they near u?, lieu- 
tenant ? 



Act I] DREAM 9 

Mor They'll be here in a trice. I know their en- 
signs already : they are those brave fellows under the 
command of count Osterloo, who did such good ser- 
vice to the emperor in his last battle. 

Woman Ay ; they be goodly men no doubt, and 
bravely accoutred J warrant ye. 

Old Woman, Ay, there be tnany a brave man 
amongst them, I trow, returning to his mother again. 
My Hubert never returned. 
2d Peas, (to Morand) Count Osterloo ! who is he ! 
Mor, Did'^st thou never hear of him ? he has b»^en 
in as many battles as thou hast been in harvest fields. 
2d Peas. And won them too ? 
Mor. Nay, some of them he has won, and some he 
has lost ; but whether his own side were fighting or 
flying, he always kept his ground, or retreated like a 
man. The enemy never saw his back, 

1st Peas. True, lieutenant ; I once knew an old 
soldier of Osterloo's who boasted much of his gener- 
al ; for his men are proud of him, and would go 
through flood and flame for his sake. 

Mor, Yes. he is affable and indulgent to them, al- 
though passionate and unreasonable when provoked ; 
and has been known to punish even his greatest fa- 
vorites severely for a slight ofl'ence, 1 remember well, 
the officer I first served under, being a man of this 

kidney, and 

1^^ Peas. Hist, hist! the gates are thrown open, 
and yonder come the monks in procession with the 
prior at their head. 

enter prior and movks from the monastery, and 
range tkemselzes on one side. 

Prior. Retire, my children, and dont come so near 
us. Dont stand near the soldiers as they pass neither, 
but go to your houses. 

1st fVoman. O bless st. Maurice and your holy 
reverence I we see nothing now but coflins and burials, 
and hear nothing bu'. the ticking of the death watch, 
and the tolling of bells : do let us Uand here and lock 



IQ THE [Baillie 

at the bFave sight. Lord knows if any of us may be 
above ground to see such another, a'n it were to pass 
this way but a week hence. 

Prior ^ Be it so then, daughter, but keep at a dis- 
tance on the rocks, where you may see every thing 
without communicating infection. (the peasants ret 
tire climbing amongst the rocks) 

enter by the narrow pass soldiers inarching to inar^- 
tial musicj with officers and osterloo. 

Prior. Soldiers and officers, and the noble chief 
commanding this band ! in the name of our patron, 
st. Maurice, once like yourselves a valiant soldier upon 
earth, now a holy, powerful saint in heaven, I con- 
jure you to halt. 

1st Off, Say you so, reverend prior, to men pressing 
forward as we do, to shelter our head for the night, 
and that cold wintry sun going down so fast upon us P 

ist Sold. By my faith ! if we pass the night here 
amongst the mountains, it will take something besides 
prayers and benedictions to keep us alive. 

2d. Sold, Spend the night here amongst chamois 
and eagles ! some miracle no doubt will be wrought 
for our accommodation. 

\st Off, Murmur not, my friends: here comes your 
general, who is always careful of you. 

Ost. What is the matter P 

Prior, You are the commander in chief? 

Ost. Yes, reverend father : and, with all respect 
and deference, let me say, the night advances fast upon 
us, Martigny is still at a good distance, and we must 
not be detained. With many thanks, then, for your 
intended civilities, we beg your prayers, holy prior, with 
those of your pious monks, and crave leave to pass on 
our way. 

Prior. If there be any piety in brave men, I con- 
jure you in the name of st. Alaurice to halt ! the lives 
of our whole community depend upon it : men, who 
for your lives have offered to heaven many prayers. 

Ost. How may this be. mv lord •* who will attack 



Act 1] DREAM 11 

your sacred walls, that you should want any defence ? 

Prior. We want not, general, the service of your 
4rms : my own troops, with the brave captain who 
commands them, are sufficient to defend us from mor* 
tal foes. 

Soldiers, Must we fight with devils then ? 

Ost. Be quietj my good comrades. Well, my lord, 
proceed. 

Prior, A fatal pestilence rages in this neighbor- 
hood ; and by command of a vision, which has ap- 
peared three times to the senior of our order, and also 
to another of our brotherhood, threatening in case of 
disobedience, that the whole community shall fall vic- 
tims to the dreadful disease, we are compelled to con- 
jure you to halt. 

Ost. And for what purpose ? 

Prior. That we may choose by lot from the first 
division of the imperial army which marches through 
this pass, so did the vision precisely direct us, a man, 
who shall spend one night within the walls of our mon- 
astery ; there to undergo certain penances for the ex- 
piation of long concealed guilt 

Ost. This is very strange. By lot did you say ? it 
will be tedious. There are a hundred of my men who 
will volunteer the service. What say ye, soldiers ? 

1^^ Sold, Willingly, general, if you desire it. Yet 
I marvel what greater virtue there can be in beleag- 
ling the war-worn hide of a poor soldier, than the fat 
sides of a well-fed monk. 

Ost. Wilt thou do it then ? 

1st Sold. Ay ; and more than that, willingly, for 
iny genei^l. It is not the first time a cat-o'-nine-taiU 
has been across my back for other men's misdeeds. 
Promise me a good flask of brandy when I'm done 
with it, and I warrant ye I'll never winch. As to the 
saying of paternosters, if there be any thing of that 
kind tacked to it, I let you to wit my dexterity is but 
small. 

^st. Then be it as thou wilt, my good friend ^ yet 



12 THE [Baillte 

I had as Hef my own skin should smart for it as thine^ 
thou art such a valiant fellow. 

Prior, No, noble general, this must not be; we 
must have our man chosen by lot. The lives of 
the whole community dependiag . upon |t ; jve ipist 
strictly obey the vision. ~ v ,»rrf i -; ^-^itc >!? •♦>' 

Ost, ft will detain us longi ' - . 

Prior. Nay, my lord ; the lots are already prepared.. 
In the first place, six men only shall draw ; four rep- 
resenting the soldiers, and two the officers. If the 
soldiers are taken, they shall draw by companies, and 
the company that is taken shall draw individually ; 
but if the lot falls to the officers, each of them shall 
draw for himself. 

Ost. Let it be. so ; you have arranged it well. Pro* 
duce the lots, (the prior giving the sign, a monk ad- 
vancesy Bearing a standi on which are placed three va- 
ses^ and sets it near the front) 

Prior. Now, brave soldiers, let four from your body 
advance. {Oster loo points to four men, who advance 
from the ranks) 

Ost, And two from the officers, my lord ? 
Prior, Even so, noble count. ( Osterloo then points 
to two officers^ who^ with the four soldier s^ draw lots 
from the smallest vase directed by the prior) 

\st Sold. This is strange mummery i' faith ! but it 
would have been no joke, I suppose, to have ofifended 
St. Maurice. 

Prior. Soldiers, ye are free ; it is your officers who 
are taken. 

\st Sold. Ha ! the vision is dainty it seems ; it is 
not vulgar blood like ours, that will serve to stain the 
ends of his holy lash, (a monk having removed two 
of the vases J the prior beckons the officers to draw 
from the remaining one) 

Prior. Stand not on order ; let him who is nearest 
put in his hand first. 

\st Sold (aside to the others as the officers are 
drazving) Now by these arms ! I would give a month's 
pay that the lot should fall on our prim, pompj»us 



Act 1] DREAM 13 

lieutenant. It would be well worth the money to look 
in at one of their narrow windows, and see his digni- 
fied back-bone winching under the hands of a good 
brawny friar. 

Ost, {aside, vnroiliffg his lot) Mighty heaven ! is 
fate or chance in this? 

\st Off. {aside to Osterloo) Have you got it, gen- 
eral ? change it for nnine, if you have. 

Ost, No no, my noble Albert; let us be honest ^'^ 
but thanks to thy generous friendship ! ^ 

Prior, Now show the lots, (a// t/ie officers shoro 
their lois, excepting Osterloo^ who continves gloomy^ 
and tkotightffd) Has no one drawn the sable scrolP 
of election ? {to Osterloo) you are silent, my lord ; oP 
what color is yonr lot ? 

Ost, {holding out his scroll) Black as midDight,— 
(soldiers quit their ranks and crowd round Osterloo , 
tumultvously) 

\st Sold, Has it fallen upon our general ! tis a 
damned lot— an unfair lot. 

'M Sold, We will not leave him behind us, though 
a hundred si. Maurices commanded it. 

Zd Sold, Get within your walls again, ye cunning 
friars. 

\st Sold, A'n we should lie i' the open air all night, 
we will not leave brave Osterloo behind us. 

Prior, Count, you seem gloomy and irresolute i^^ 
have the goodness to silence these clamors. 1 ar4 in * 
truth as sorry as any of your soldiers can be, that liie 
lot has fallen upon you. 

\st Off, [aside to Osterloo) Nay, my noble friend, 
let me fulfil this penance in your stead. It is not now 
a time for scruples : the soldiers will be mutinous. ^^ 

Ost, Mutinous ! soldiers, return to your ranks.—— ^^ 
(looking at thtm sternly as they seem unwillingly to 
obey) Will you brave me so far that I must repeat my 
command? (they retife) I thank thee, dear Albert. 
Thou shalt do something in my stead ; but it shall not 
be th^ service thou thinkest of. Reverend father, I 
am in4eed somewhat struck at being marked out by 
B 



H THE [BaitUe 

fate from so many men ; bnf, as to how I shall act 
thereupon, no wise irrcsi;iUi,e. Co-inue your march. 
The brave Albert shall condijct you to Martigny ; 
and there you will remzln nr.der his command, till I 
join you again. 

Isi Sold. Gou preserve you then, my noble gener- 
al ! and if you do not join us again by to-morrow eve- 
ning, safe and sound, we will not leave one stone of 
that building standing on another, 

Mamy soldiers at once. So swear we all ! so swear, 
&c. 

Ost. Go to, foolish fellows ! were you to leave me 
in a den of lions, you could not be more apprehensive. 
Will watching all night by some holy shrine, or walk- 
ing bare-foot through their midnight aisies, be such a 
hardship to one, who has passed so many nights with 
you all on the cold field of battle ? continue your 
march without delay ; else these good fathers will 
count you no better than a bund of new raised city 
troops, with some jolly tankard-chief for your leader. 
A good march to you, my friends, with kind hostess- 
es and warm fire-sides where you are going. 

\st Sold, Ah ! what good wi i our fire sides do us, 
when we think how our genera! is lodt»ed ? 

Ost, Farewell ! march on a? quickly as you may : 
jou shall all drink my health to-morrow evening in a 
good hogshead of rhenish. 

\st Sold. God grant we may! look to it, reverend 
prior : if our general be not with us by to morrow's 
sunset, St. Maurice will neither have monastery nor 
monks on this mountain. 

Ost. No more ! (emdraciffg first offker, and shak- 
ing hands with others) farewell ! farewell ! {the sol- 
diers, <rftGr giving him a loud cheer, march off with 
their officers to martial mvsic) 
[exeunt Osterloo, prior^ and monks into the monasU' 

ry while the peasants disappear amongst the rocks 

(manent Morand and Agnes ^who has for some tim-f 

appeared, looking over a crag) 

Agn, Morand. Morand! 



Act IJ DREAM 15 

Mor, Ha ! art thou there? I might have guessed 
indeed, that so brave a sight would not ese-^pe thee. 
What made thee perch thyself like an eagle upon such 
a crag as that ? 

Agn. Chide not, good Morand, but help me down, 
lest I pay a dearer price for my sight than thou, with 
all thy grumbling, would'st wish, (he helps he^ down), 

Mor^ And now thou art going no douM . ^ tell the 
lady Leonora, what a band of gallant fellows thou 
bast seen. 

Agn, Assuredly, if I can find in my heart to speak 
of any but their nob'a leader. What is his name ? 
what meaning had all that drawing of lots in it? what 
will the monks do with him ? walk with me a little 
way towards the castle, brave, Morand, and tell mer 
what thou know '3st. 

Mor, I shou i walk to the castle and miles beyor^d 
it too, ere I could answer so many questions, and I 
have duty in the monastery besides. 

As,n^ Coni3 '- .th me a little way, at least. 

Mor. Ah, witch! thou knowest too well that I 
must always do what thou oldest me, \^exeun% 



SCENE lu— the refectory of the monastery^ with a 
small table, on which are placed refreshments^ dis- 
covered in one corner. 

enter osterloo, prior, benedict, ;rEROME, aiid 

PAUL, ^C, 

Prior. Noble Osterloo, let me welcome you here, 
as one appointed by heaven to purchase our deliverancje 
from this dreadful malady ; and I hope the price to be 
paid for it will not be a heavy one. Yet ere we pro- 
ceed farther in this matter, be entreated, I pray, to take 
some refreshment after your long march. 

Ost. I thank you, my lord ; this is a gentle begin- 
ning to my penance : 1 will, then, by your leave, (sit- 
ting) I have fasted long, and am indeed somewhat ex- 
hausted, {eats) Ah ! my poor soldiers ! you must stilt 



16 THE [Baiilie 

endure two hours' weary march, before you find such 
indulgence. You** wine is good, reverend father. 

Prior. I am glad you find it so ; it is old. 

Ost, And your viands are good too ; and your bread 
is delicious, {drinks another cup) 1 shall have vigor 
now for any thing. — Pray tell me something more of 
this wonderful vision: was it a saint or an angel that ap- 
peared to the senior brother ? 

Prior, {pointing to Jerome) He will answer for 
himself, and (pomiing to Paul) this man saw it also. 

Jer, It was neither angel nor saint, noble count, but 
a mortal form wonderfully noble. 

Ost, And it appeared to you in the usual manner of 
a dream ? 

Jer, It did ; at least T know no sensible distinction. 
A wavy envelopement of darkness preceded it, from 
which appearances seemed dimly to wake into form, 
till all was presented before me in the full strength of 
reality. 

Paul, Nay, brother, it broke upon me at one*; a 
vivid distinct apparition. 

Ost, Well, be that as it may ; what did appear to 
you ? a mortal man, and very noble ? 

Jer, Yes, general. Methought I was returning from 
mass, through the cloisters that lead from the chapel, 
when a figure, as 1 have said, appeared to me, and beck- 
oned me to follow it. 1 did follow it ; for at first I 
was neither afraid, nor even surprised ; but so wonder- 
fully it rose in stature and dignity as it strode before me, 
that, ere it reached the door of the stranger's burying 
vault, I was struck with unaccountable awe. 
Ost. The stranger's burying vault ! 
Prior. Does any sudden thought strike you, count ? 
Ost, No, no! here's your health, fathers ; (drink- 
ing) your wine is excellent 

Prior, Rut that is water you have just now swallow- 
ed : this is the wine. 

Ost. Ha ! is it ? no matter, no matter ! it is very good 
too. (a long pause — Osierloo with his eyes fixed 
thoughtfully on the ground) 



Act IJ DREAM 17 

Prior. Shall notour brother proceed with his story, 
general ? 

Ost, Most certainly : I have been listening for it. 

Jer. Well then, as 1 have said, at the door of tli£ 
stranger's burying vault it f?topped,and beckoned me a- 
gain. It entered, and I followed \L There, through 
the damp mouldering tombs, it strode still before me, 
till it came to the farther extremity, as nearly as 1 could 
guess, two yards westward fromthe black marble mon- 
ument ; and then stopping and turning on me its fixed 
and ghastly eyes, it stretched out its hands 

OsL Its hands ! did you say, its hands ? 

Jer. It stretched out one of them ? the other was 
covered with its mantle ; and in a voice that sounded — 
I know not how it sounded — 

Paul, Ay, brother ; it was something like a voice, at 
least it conveyed words to the mind, though it was not 
like a voice neither. 

Jer, Be tliat as you please : these words it solemnly 
uttered — *' Command the brothers of this monastery, 
on pain of failing victims to the pestilence now devas- 
tating the country, to stop on its way the first division 
of the imperial army that shall march through your 
mountain pass ; and choose from it, by lot, a man who 
shall abide one night within these walls, to ma'^e expi- 
ation for long concealed guilt. Let the suffering be 
such as the nature of the crime and the connexion of 
the expiator therewith shall dictate.. This spot of earth 
shall reveal — " It said no more, but bent its eyes stead- 
iiistly upon me with a stern threatening frown, which 
became, as it looked, keener than the looks of any mor- 
tal being, and vanished from my sight 

Paul. Ay, that look ; that last terrible look ! it awoke 
me w^ith terror, and I know not how it vanished. 

Jer. This has been repeated to me three times ; last 
night twice in the course of the night, while brother 
Paul here was at the same time terrified with a simi- 
lar apparition. 

Prior, This, you will acknowledge, count, was ito 
common visitation, and could not but trouble us. 



18 THE [Baillie 

Ost, You say well. — Yet it was but a dream. 

Prior. IVue ; il was but a dream, and as such these 
pioub men strove to consider it ; when the march of 
vour troops across our mountains, a thing so unlikely 
to happen, compelled them to reveal to me, without 
loss of time, what had ajipearcd to them. 

Ost. A tall figure, you say, and of a noble aspect? 

Jer Like that of a king, though habited more in the 
garb of a foreign soldier of fortune than of a state so 
dignified. (Osterloo rises from table agitated) 

Prior. What is the matter, general ? will you not 
finish your repast ? 

Ost, I thank you ; I have had enough. The night 
grows cold ; I would rather walk than sit. (walks to 
and fro in the back ground) 

Jer. What think ye of this ? 

Prior. His countenance changed several times as he 
listened to you : there is something here different from 
common surprise on hearing a wonderful thing. 

enter a peasant bearing a torch. 

Peas. We have found it. 

Ost. (stopping short in h'?s walk) What hast thou 
found ? 

Peas. What the prior desired us to dig for. 

Ost: What is that ? 

Peas. A grave. ( Osterloo turns suddenly and strides 
up and down very rapidly) 

Prior. Hast thou found il? 

Peas. Ay, please you, and in the very spot, near the 
black monument, where your reverence desired us to 
dig. And it is well you sent f^r my kinsman and I to do 
it, for there is not a lay-brother in the monastery strong 
enough to raise up the great stones that covered it. 

Pr or. In the very spot, sayest thou? 

Peas. In the very spot. 

Prior. Bear thy torch before us, and we'll follow 
thee. 

Omncs. (eagerly^ Osterloo excepted) Let us go im- 
mediateJy. 



Act II] DREAM 19 

Prior, (to Osterloo) Will not count Osterloo go al- 
so ? it is fitting that he should. 

Ost. O, most assuredly : I am perfectly ready to 
follow you. [^exeunt 

END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



ACT II. 

SCJCNE I — a burying vanity almost dark — the moniB- 
ments and grave- stones being seen very dimly by 
the light of a single torch^ stuck by the side of a 
deep opeji grave ^ in which a sexton is discovered^ 
standing leaning on his mattock^ and m grand, 
above ground^ turiiing up, with Ms sheathed sword, 
the loose earth about the mouth of the grave. 

Mor. There is neither scull nor bone amongst this 
earth : the ground must have been newly broken up, 
when that coffin was let down into it. 

Sex. So one should think ; but the earth here has 
the quality of consuming whatever is put into it in a 
marvellous short time. 

Mor, Ay; the flesh and more consumable parts of 
a body ; but hath it grinders in its jaws, like your car- 
nivorous animal, to cransh up bones and all ? I have 
seen bones in an old field of battle, some hundred years 
after the action, lyino- whitened and hard in the sun. 

Sex. Well, a'nt be new ground, PII warrant ye some- 
body has paid money enough for such a good tenement 
as this: 1 could not wish my own father a better. 

Mor. The coffin is of an uncommon size: there 
must be a leaden one within it, I should think. 

Sex. I doubt that : it is only a clumsy shell that has 
been put together in haste; and I'll be hanged if he 
who made it ever made another before it. Now it 
would pine me with vexation to think I should be laid 
in such a bungled piece of workmanship as this. 

Mor. Ay j it is well for those who shall bury thee^ 



20 THE [Baillie 

sexton, that tliou wilt not ba a looker on at thine own 
funeral. — Put together in haste, saycstthou I how long 
may it be since this coffin was laid in the ground? 

Sex, By my fay, now, 1 cannot tell ; though many 
a grave I have dug in this vault, instead of the lay- 
brothers, who are mighty apt to take a colic or bhorlr.es5 
of breath, or the like, when any thing of hard labor 
falls to their share, (after pausing) Ha, now! 1 have 
it. When I went over the mountain some ten years 
ago to visit my father in-law, Bald wick, the stranger, 
who died the other day, after living so long as a hermit 
amongst the rocks, came h^ere; and it was shrewdly sus- 
pected he had leave from our late priur. for a good sum 
of money, to bury a body privately in this vault. I was 
a fool not to think of it before. Thii, I'll be sworn 
for it, is the place. 

enter the prior, osterloo, jf.robie, paul, bcne- 
DICT, and other monks^ zcit/i the 'peasant carrying 
light before them — they enter by an arched door, at 
the bottom^ and walk np to the front, when every one 
but Osterloo, crowds eagerly to the grave, looking 
down into it. 

Prior, What hast thou found, friend? 

Sex. A coffin a'*nt please you, and of a size, too, that 
might almost contain a giant. 

Omnes. The inscription — is there an inscription on 
it? 

Sex. No, no ! they who put tliese planks together 
had no time for inscriptions. 

Omnes. Break it open :— break it ojien. (they crowd 
snore eagerly about the grave, zohcn, after a pause the 
sexton is heard wrenching open the lid of the cojjln) 

Omnes. What is there in it ? what hasu thou found, 
sexton ? 

Ser, An entire skeleton, and of no common size. 

Ost. Is it entire? 

Sex, No, the right hand is wanting, and there is not 
a loose bone in the coffin. ( Osterloo shvjders^ and steps 



Act II] DREAM 21 

Jer. Will you not speak to him, father ? his coun- 
tenance is changed ^ and his whole frame seems moved 
by some sudden convulsion, {the prior remains silent^ 
How is this ? you are also changed, reverend father. 
Shall 1 speak to him ? 

Prior, Speak thou to him. 

Jer. What is the matter with you, general ? has 
some sudden malady seized you ? 

Ost, Let me be alone with you, holy prior ; let me 
be alone with you instantly. 

Jer. This is the prior. — He would be alone with you, 
father: he would make his confession to you. 

Prior, I dare not hear him alone : there must be 
witnesses. Let him come with me to my apartment, 

Jer. Let me conduct you, count, (cifitr wafking 
some steps) Come on, my lord, why do you stop short ? 

Ost, Not this way — not this way, i pray you. 

Jer, What is it you would avoiii ^ 

Ost. Turn aside, I pray you ; 1 cannot cross over 
this. 

Jer. Is it the grave yoa mean? we have left it behind 
us. 

Ost. Is it not there ? it yawns across our path, direct- 
ly before us. 

Jer. Indeed, my lord, it is some paces behind. 

Osl. There is delusion in my sight then ; lead me as 
thou wilt. [exeunt 

SCENE II — the private aparlment of the prior. 

enter benedict, looking round as he enters. 

Ben. Not yet come ; ay, penitence is not very swift 
of toot. IMiserable man ! — brave, goodly creature ! — 
but alas, alas! most subdued ; most miserable ; and, 1 
fear, most guilty. 

enter jerome. 

Jerome here ! — dost thou know, brother, that the prior 
is coming here immediately to confess the penitent ? 



%% THE [Baillie 

Jzr, Yes, brother ; but I am no intruder ; for he 
has summoned me to qittend the confession as well as 
thyself. 

Etn. Methinks some other person of our order, un- 
concerned with the dreaming part of this business, 
would have been a less suspicions witness. 

*/er. Suspicious ! am I more concerned in this than 
any other member of our community ? heaven appoints 
its own agents as it listeih : the stones of these walU 
might have declared its awful will as well ^s the dreams 
of a \y->i'V friar. 

Bzn. True, brother Jerome ; could they listen to 
confessions as he does, and hold reveries upon them 
afterwards. 

Jer. What dost thou mean with thy reveries and 
confessions ? did not Paul see the terrible vision as 
well as i ? 

Btn. if thou hadst not revealed thy dream to him, 
he would have slept soand enough, or, at worst, have 
but flown over the pinnacles with his old mate the hor- 
ned serpent, as usual : and had the hermit Baldwick 
never made his death bed confession to thee, thou 
wouldst never have had such a dream to reveal. 

Jitr, Thinkest thou so ? then what brought Oster- 
loo and his troops so unexpectedly by this route ? with 
all thy heretical dislike to miraculous interposition, how 
wilt thou account for this ? 

Ben. If thou hadst no secret intelligence of Oster- 
loo's route, to set thy fancy a working on the story 
the hermit confessed to thee, 1 never wore cowl on my 
head. 

Jtr. Those, indeed, who hear thee speak so lightly 
of mysterious and holy things, will scarcely beheve 
Ihou ever didst. — But hush • Ihe prior comes with his 
penitent ; let us have no altercation now. 

enUr prior and osterloo. 

Prior, (ctfter a pause, in xvAic/i he seems agitated ) 
—Now, count Osterloo, we are reii ly to hear your con- 
fession. To myself and these pious monks; men ap- 



Act IIJ DREAM 2^ 

pointed by our holy religion to search into the crimes 
of the penitent, unburthen your heart of its terrible se- 
cret ; and god grant you afierward?, if it be his righ- 
teous will, repentance and mercy. 

Ost. (making a sign as if unable to speaks then 
uttering rapidly) Presently, presently. 

Jer. Dont hurry him, reverend father ; he cannot 
speak. 

Ben. Take breath awhile, noble Osterloo, and speak 
to us when you can. 
Ost. 1 thank you. 

Ben. He is much agitated. Lean upon me, my 
lord. 

Prior, (to Benedict) Nay, you exceed in this, (to 
Osterloo) Recollect yourself, general, and try to be 
more composed. You seem better now ; endeavor to 
unburthen your mind of its fatal secret ; to have it la- 
boring within your breast is protracting a state of misery. 
Ost. {feebly) 1 have voice now. 

Jer. Give to heaven then, as you ought 

Ben. Hush, brother Jerome ! no exhortations now ! 
let him speak it as he can. We attend to you most 
anxiously. 

Ost. {after struggling for utterance) T slew him. 
Prior. The man whose bones have now been dis- 
covered ? 

Ost. The same : I slew him. 
Jer, In the field, count ? 

Ost. No, no ! many a man's blood has been on my 
hands there : this is on my heart. 

Prior. It is then premeditated murder you have 
committed. 

Ost, Call it so, call it so. 

Jer, And is this all ? will you not proceed to tell us 
the circumstances attending it ? 

Ost. Oh ! they were terrible ! but they are all in 
my mind as the indistinct horrors of a frenzied imagi- 
nation. I did it in a narrow pass on st. Gothard, in 
the stormy twi'ight of a winter day. 
Prior. Von murdered him there? 



24 THE [Baillie 

Ost. I felt him dead under my grasp ; but I looked 
at him no more after the last desperate thrust that I 
gave him. I hurried te a distance from the spot : 
when a servant, who was with me, seized with a sudden, 
remorse, begged leave to return and remove the body, 
that, if possible, he might bury it in consecrated ground, 
as an atonement for the part he had taken in the 
terrible deed. I gave him leave, with means to pro- 
cure his desire : 1 waited for him three days, conceal- 
ed in the mountains ; but 1 neither saw him, nor heard 
of him again. 

Ben. But what tempted a brave man like Osterlo© 
to commit such a horrible act ? 

Ost The torments of jealousy stung me to it. 

(hiding his face xoHh his hands and then uncovering 
il) I loved her, and was beloved : he came, — a no- 
ble stranger 

Jer. Ay, if he was in his mortal state, as I in my 
dream beheld him, he was indeed most noble. 

Ost, (waving his hand impatiently) Well, well ! 
he did come, then, and she loved me no more. With 
arts and enchantments he besotted her. Even from 
her own lips 1 received — (tossing up his arms violent- 
ly, and then covering his face as before) But what is 
all this to you ? maimed as he was, having lost his^ 
right arm in a battle with the turks, I could not defy 
him to the field. After passing two nights in all the 
tossing agony of a damned spirit, I followed him on his 
journey across the mountains. On the twilight of the 
second day, 1 laid wait for him in a narrow pass ; and 
as soon as his gigantic form darkened the path before 
me 1 have told you all. 

Prior (eagerly) You have not told his name. 

Ost. Did 1 not say Montera ? he was a noble hun- 
garian. 

Prior, {much agitated) He was so ! he was so. 
He was noble and beloved. 

Jer. (aside to prior) What is the matter with yoU:^ 
reyerend father ? was he your friend ? 



Act IIJ DREAM 25 

Prior, Speak not to ilie now, but question the mur- 
derer as ye will. 

Be7i. He is indeed a murderer, reverend father, but 
he is our penitent. 

Prior. Go to ! what are names ? ask him what 
questions you will, and firish the confession quickly. 

Ben. But have you never till now confessed this 
crime ; nor in the course of so many years reflected on 
its dreadful turpitude ? 

Ost. The active and adventurous life of a soldier is 
most adverse to reflection : but often, in the stillness 
of midnight, the remembrance of this terrible deed has 
come powerfully upon me ; till morning returned, and 
the noise of the camp began, and the fortunes of the 
day were before me. 

Prior. Thou hast indeed been too long permitted to 
remain in this hardened state. But heaven, sooner or 

later, will visit the man of blood with its terrors. 

Sooner or later, he shall feel that he stands upon an 
awful brink ; and short is the step which engulfs him 
in that vvorld, where the murdered and the murderer 
meet again, in the tremendous presence of him, who 
is the lord and giver of life, 

Ost. You believe then in such severe retribution ? 

Prior. I believe in it as in my own existence. 

Ost, And you, good fathers, you believe in this ? 
:^^Ben. Nature teaches this as well as revelation: we 
itflist believe it. 

Jer. Some pesumptuous minds, dazzled with the 
sunshine of prosperity, have dared to doubt ; but to us, 
in the sober shade of life ; visited too, as we have now 
been, by visions preternatural and awful, it is a thing of 
certainty, rather than of faith. 

Ost, That such things are ! it makes the brain Con- 
fused and giddy. These are tremendous thoughts. — 
{leans his back against the wall^ and gazes fixedly on 
the ground) 

Prior, Let us leave him to the bitterness of his 
thoughts. We now must deliberate with the brethren 
on what is to be done. There must be no delay ; the 
C 



2^ The [Baillie 

niglit advances fast. Conduct him to another apart- 
ment: 1 must assemble a council of the whole order. 

Jer, We must lead you to another apartment, count, 
while we consider what is to be done. 

Ost. Ay, the expiation you mean : let it be severe ; 
vt atonement in this world may be made, (turning to 
prior, as Jerome leads him off) Let your expiation be 
severe, holy father : a slight penance matches not with 
such a crime as mine. 

Prior. Be well assured it shall be what it ought. 

Ost. (turning again and catching hold of tht 
prior's robe) I regard not bodily pain. In battle 
once, with the head of a broken arrow in my thigh, I 
led on the charge, and sustained aU the exertions of a 
well-fought field, till night closed upon our victory.— 
Let your penance be severe, my reverend father ^ I 
have been long acquainted with pain. 

^ [exeunt Osterloo and Jerome 

Ben. You seem greatly moved, father; but it is not 
with pity for the wretched. You would not destroy 
such a man as this, though his crime is the crime of 
blood ? 

Prior. He shall die : ere another sun dawn on these 
walls, he shall die. 

Pen Oh, say not so ! think of some other expiation. 

Prior. I would think of another, were there any 
other more dreadful to him than death. 

Pen, He is your penitent. 

Prior. He is the murderer of my brother. 

Pen. Then heaven have mercv on him, if he must 
find none here !- Montera was your brother ? 

Prior. My only brother. It were tedious to tell 
thee now, how I was separated from him after the 

happy days of our youlh. 1 saw him no more ; yet 

he was still the dearest object of my thoughts. After 
escaping death in many a battle, he was slain, as it was 
conjectured, by banditti, in travelling a.ross the moun- 
tains. His body was never discovered. Ah ! little 
did I think it was lying so near me ! 

Pen. It is indeed piteous ; and you must needs feel 



Act 11] DREAM S7 

it as a brother : but consider the danger we run, 
sjiould we lay violent hands on an imperial general, 
with his enraged soldiers, within a few hours' march 
of our walls. 

Prior, I can think of nothing but revenge. Speak 
to me no more. I must assemble the whole order im- 
mediately, [exeunt 

spENE III— another apartment, 

enter ostcPvLoo as from a small recess at the bot- 
tom — paces backwards and forwards several times 
ill an agitated manner — thtn advances slozcly to the 
fronts where he stands musing and muttering to 
himself for some moments, 

Ost. That this smothered horror should burst upon me 
at last ! and the^e be reaily such things as the darken- 
ed fancy imageth to itself, when the busy day is still- 
ed. An unseen world surrounds us : spirits and 
powers, and the invisible dead hover near us ; while 
we in unconscious security — oh ! I have slept upon a 
fearful brink ! every sword that threatened my head 
in battle, had power in its edge to send me to a terri- 
ble account. — 1 have slept upon a fearful brink. — Am 
1 truly awake t' {rubbing his eyes, then grasping sever-' 
al parts of his body, first zoith one hand and then zoith 
the other) yes, yes: it is so ! I am keenly and terribly 
awake, {stalks rapidly up and dozon, end then stop^ 
ping short) Can there be virtue in penances suffered 
by the body to do away offences of the soul ? if there 
be — o, if there be ! let them runnel my body with 
stripes ; and swathe me round in one continued girtb 
of wounds ! any thing, that can be endured here, i$ 
mercy compared to the dreadful abiding of what may 
be hereafter. 

enter wovelreid, behind^ followed by soldiers^ who 
range themselves at the bottom — Osterloo turning 
roundf runs up to him eagerly, 

Hal my dear Albert, returned to me again, with all 



2S THE [Baillie 

my noble fellows at thy back ! pardon me ; I mistook 
you for one of my captains. 

fVov. I am the prior's captain. 

Ost, And those men too ? 

fVov. They are the prior's soldiers, who have been 
ordered from distant quarters to repair to the mon- 
astery immediately. 

Ost. In such haste ? 

fVov. Ay, in truth! we received our orders after 
sun set, and have marched two good leagues since. 

Ost. What may this mean ? 

fVov. Faith I know not. My duty is to obey the 
prior, and pray to our good saint ; and whether I am 
commanded to surprise the strong hold of an enemy, 
or protect an execution, it is the same thing to me. 

Ost. An execution ! can aught of this nature be in- 
tended ? 

IVov. You turn pale, sir : wearing the garb of a 
soldier, you have surely seen blood ere nov/. 

Ost. 1 have seen too much blood. 

en^er PRIOR, jerome,paul, and monks, walking 
in order — t/ie prior holding a paper in his hand. 

Prior. Count Osterloo, lieutenant-general of our 
liege lord the emperor ; authorised by this deed, which 
is subscribed by all the brethren of our ho!y order here 
present, I pronounce to you our solemn decision, that 
the crime of murder, as, by the mysterious voice of 
heaven, and your own confession, your crime is proved 
to be, can only be expiated by death : you are there- 
fore warned to prepare yourself to die this night. 

Before day break, you must be with the inhabitants of 
another world ; where may the great maker of us all 
deal with you in mercy ! ( Osterloo staggers back 
from the spot zcherc he stood, and r&tnuins silent) — 
it is a sentence, count, pronounced against you from 
necessity, t.o^ save the lives of our whole community, 
which you yourself have promised to submit to : have 
you any thing to say in reply to it ? 



Act II] DREAM 29 

Ost, Nothing : my thoughts are gone from me in 
the darkness of astonishment. 

Prior, We are compelled to be thus hasty and se- 
vere : ere day break, you must die. 

Ost. Ere day break ! not even the light of another 
sun, to one so ill prepared for the awful and tremen- 
dous state into which you would thrust him ! this is 
inhuman ! it is horrible ! 

Prior. He was as ill prepared for it, who with still 
shorter warning, was thrust into that awful state in the 
narrow pass of st. Gothard. 

Ost The guilt of murder was not on his soul. Nay, 
jiay, holy prior ! consider this horrible extremity : let 
the pain of the executioner's stroke be twenty fold up- 
on me ; but thrust me not forth to that state from 
which my soul recoils with unutterable horror.— Never 
but once, to save the life of a friend, did I bend the 
knee to mortal man in humble supplication. I am a 
soldier ; in many battles I have bled for the service of 
my country : I am a noble soldier, and I was a proud 

one ; yet do I thus contemn not my extremity ! 

my knee is on the groi nd. 

Prior, Urge me no further. It must not be ; no 
respite can be granted. 

Ost, (starting vp furiously from the ground, an4 
drawing his sword) Then subdue as you may, stern 
priest, the strength of a desperate man. ( fVovelreid 
and soldiers rush forzoard, getting behind him, and 
surrounding hitn on €%:ery side, and after a violent 
struggle disarm him ) 

fVov, What a noble fellow^ this would be to defend 
a narrow breach, though he shrinks with such abhor- 
rence from a scaffold. It is a piteous thing to see him 
so beset. 

Prior. What sayest thou, fool ! 

fVov. Nay, it is no business of mine, my lord, J con- 
fess. Shall we conduct him to the prison chamber ? 

Prior. Do so ; and see that he retain no concealed 
arms about him. 
C 2 



^0 THE [Baillie 

fVov. I obey, my lord : every thing shall be made 
secure. 

lexit Osterloo^gaurded by fVovelreid and soldiers 

enter benedict, by the opposite side^ who stands 
looking after him piteously. 

Prior, What brings thee here ? dost thou repent 
having refused to concur with us in an act that pre- 
serves the community ? 

jBew. Say rather, reverend father, an act that revenges 
your brother's death, which the laws of the empire 
should revenge. 

Prior. A supernatural visitation of heaven hath 

commanded us to punish it. What ; dost thou 

shake thy head ? thou art of a doubting and danger- 
ous spirit ; and beware lest, sooner or later, the temp- 
ter do not lure thee into heresy. If reason cannot sub- 
due thee, authority shall. Return again to thy cell 5 

let me hear of this no more. 

Ben. I will, reverend father. But for the love of our 
holy saint, bethink you, ere it be too late, that though 
we may be saved from the pestilence by this bloody 
sacrifice, what will rescue our throats from the swords 
of Osterloo's soldiers, when they shall return, as they 
have threatened, to demand from us their general ? 

Prior. Give thyself no concern about this. My own 
bands are already called in, and a messenger has been 
despatched to the abbess Matilda ; her troops, in de- 
fence of the church, will face the best soldiers of the 

empire. But why lose we time in unprofitable con- 

tentions ? go, my sons, (speaking to other monks) the 
night advances fast, and we have much to do ere 
morning, {knocking heard zoiihout) Ha! who knocks 
at this *Btimely hour ? can the soldiers be indeed re- 
turned UDon us? — run to the gate ; but open it to none. 
(exeunt several monks in haste and presently re- 
enter with a ! ay-brother) 

Lay^B. Please ye, reverend father ; the marchio- 
ness has sent a messenger from the castle, beseeching 



Act in DREAM Si 

you to send a confessor immediately to confess one of 
her women, who was taken ill yesterday, and is novr 
at the point of death. 

Prior. I'm glad it is only this. — What is the matter 
with the penitent ? 

Lay B. I know not, please you: the messenger on- 
ly said, she was taken ill yesterday. 

Prior. Ay, this malady has got there also, — I cannot 
send one of the brothers to bring infection immediate- 
ly amongst us. ^What is to be done? Leonora is a 

most noble lady ; and the family have been great bene- 
factors to our order. — I must send somebody to her. 
But he must stop well his nostrils with spicery, and 
leave his upper garment behind him, when he quits the 
infected apartnient. Jerome, wilt thou go ? thou art 
the favorite confessor with all the women at the castle» 
Tier. Nay, father ; I must attend on our prisoner here, 
who has most need of ghostly assistance^ 

Prior o Go thou, Anselrao ; thou hast given comfort 
to many a dying penitent. 

Monk. I thank you, father, for the preference ; bi^fc 
Paul is the best of us all for administering comfort to 
the dying ; and there is a sickness come over my heart, 
o'the sudden, that makes me unlit for the office. 
Prior. Thou wilt go then, my good son. 
PauL I beseech you, dont send me, reverend Tather ? 
1 ne'er escaped contagion in my life, where malady or 
fever were to be had. 

Prior. Who will go then ? (a deep silence) 
Ben. What ; has no one faith enough in the protec- 
tion of St. Maurice, even purchased, as it is about to be, 
by the shedding of human blood, to venture upon this 
dangerous duty ? 1 will go then, father, though ( am 
sometimes of a doubting spirit. 

Prior. Go, and »t. Maurice protect thee ! 

[exit Benedict 
Leti,him go ; it is well that we get rid of him for the 
night, should they happily detain him so long at the cas- 
tle. — He is a troublesome, close-searching, sr ! ^-uiej 



32 THE iBaillie 

fellow. He hath no zeal for the order. Were a mi^ 
ger to bequeath his possessions to our monastery, he 
would assist ihe disappointed heir himself to find out 
a flaw in the deed. — But retire to your cells, my sons; 
and employ yourselves in prayer and .levotion, till the 
great bell warn you to attend the execution, [exeunt 

SCENE III — an apariment in the castle, 
enter leonora a7id agnes, speaking as they enter^ 

j4g. But she is asleep now ; and is so much and so 
suddenly better, that the confessor, when he comes, 
will be dissatisfied, I fear, that we have called him 
from his cell at sueh an unreasonable hour. 

Leo. Let hin) come, nevertheless ; dont send to pre- 
vent him, 

Agn, He will be unwiHing to be detahied, for they 
are engaged in no common matters to night at the 
monastery. Count Osterloo, as 1 told you before, is 
doing voluntary penance at the shrine of st. Maurice 
to stop the progress of this terrible malady, 

Leo. I remember thou didst. 

Agn. Ah, marchioness! you would not say so thus 
faintly, had you seen him march through the pass with 
his soldiers. He is ihe bravest and most graceful man, 
though somewhat advanced in years, that I ever be- 
held.— Ah, had you but seen him ! 

Leo. I have seen him, Agnes. 

Agn, And I spoke of him all the while, yet you did 
not tell me this before ! ah, my noble mistress and 
friend ! the complexion of your cheek is altered ; you 
have indeed seen him, and you have not seen him with 
indifference. 

Leo, Think as thou wilt about this. He was the 
friend and fellow-soldier of my lord, when we first 
married ; though before my marriage I had never seen 
him. 

Agn Friend ! your lord was then in the decline of 
life ; there must hayc been great disparity in th^if 
friendship. 



Act II] DREAM 35 

Leo. They were friends, however ; for the marquis 
liked society younger than himself; and I, who had 
been hurried into an unequal marriage, before I could 
judge for myself, was sometimes foolish enough to 
compare them together. 

Agn. Ay, that was natural enough. And what 
happened then ? 

Leo. What happened then ! {drawing herself up 
proudly) nothing happened then, but subduing the 
foolish fancy of a girl, which was afterwards amply re* 
paid by the self-approbation and dignity of a woman. 

Agn. Pardon me, madam ; I ought to have sup- 
posed ail this. But you have been long a widow, and 
Osterloo is still unmarried ; what prevented you when 
free. 

Leo. I was ignorant what the real state of his sen- 
timents had been in regard to me. But had this been 
otherwise ; received as I was, into the family of my 
lord, the undowried daughter of a petty nobleman ; 
and left as I now am, by his confiding love, the sole 
guardian of his children and their fortunes ; I could 
never think of supporting a second lord on the wealth 
entrusted to me by the first, to the injury of his chil- 
dren. As nothing, therefore, has ever happened in con- 
sequence of this weakness of my youLh, nothing ever 
shall. 

Agn . T hi s i s n obi e. 

Leo, It is right. But here comes the father con- 
fessor. 

enter benedict. 

— You are welcome, good father ! yet I am almost 
ashamed to see you ; for our sick person has become 
suddenly well again, and is now in a deep sleep. I 
fear 1 shall appear to you capricious and inconsiderate 
in calling you up at so late an hour. 

Ben. Be not uneasy, lady, upon this account : I am 
glad to have an occasion for being absent from the 
monastery for some hours, if you will permit me to re- 
main here so Ions:. 



H^ THE [Baillie 

Leo, What mean you, father Benedict ? your coun- 
tenance is solemn and sorrowful : what is going on at 
the monastery ? (ke shakes his head) ha ! will they be 
severe with him in a voluntar) penance, submitted to for 
the good of the order ? what is the nature of the pen- 
imce? it is to continue, 1 am told, but one night. 
JBen. It will, indeed, soon be over. 
Jjeo, And will he be gone on the morrow ? 

Ben. His spirit will, but his body remains with us 
for ever. 

Leo. (uttering a shriek) Death, dost thou mean ? 
o horror ! horror ! is this the expiation ? o, most horri- 
ble, most unjust ! 

^ew. Indeed I consider it as such. Though guilty, 
by his own confession^ of murder, committed many 
years since, under the frenzy of passion ; it belongs 
not to us to inflict the punishment of death upon ^ 
guilty soul, taken so suddenly and unprepared for its 
doom. 

Leo, Murder ! didst thou say murder ? oh, Osterloo, 
Osterloo ! hast thou been so barbarous ? and art thou 
in this terrible state ? must thou thus end thy days, 
and so near ipe too ! 

£en. You seem greatly moved, noble Leonora: — 
would you could do something more for him than la- 
ment. 

Leo. (catching hold of him eagerly) Can I do any 
thing ? speak, father : o tell mtt how ! I will do any 
thing and every thing. Alas, alas ! my vassals are but 
few, and cannot be assembled immediately. 

jBen. Force v/^re useless. Your vassals, if they 
were assembled, would not be persuaded to attack the 
sacred walls of a monastery. 

Leo, I did indeed rave foolishly : but what else can 
be done ? take these jewels and every thing of value in 
the castle, if they will bribe those who guard him, to 
let him escape. Think of it — o think well of it, good 
Benedict ! 

jdgn. I have heard that there is a secret passage, 
Heading from the prison-chamber of the monastery un- 



Act II] DREAM 35 

Aer its walls, and opening to Ihe free country at the 
bottom of the rocks. 

Ben. By every holy saint, so there is ! and the most 
sordid of our brothers is entrusted with the key of it. 
But who will be his conductor? none but a monk of 
the order may pass the soldiers who guai d him ; and 
the monk who should do it, must fly from his country 
for ever, and break his sacred vows. I can oppose the 
weak fears and injustice of my brethren, for misfor- 
tunes and disgust of the world, not superstitious vene- 
ration for monastic sartctity, has covered my head with 
a cowl ; but this I cannot do, 

Agn. There is the dress of a monk of your order in 
the old wardrobe of the castle, if some person were dis- 
guised in it. 

Leo. Thanks to thee ! thanks to thee, my happy Ag- 
nes ! 1 will be that person^— 1 will put on the disguise. 
"-< — Good father ! your face gives consent to this. 

Ben, If there be time ; but I left them preparing for 
the execution* 

Leo. There is, there is ! — come with me to the ward- 
robe, and we'll set out for the monastery forthwi'^h. 
Come, come! a few moments will carry us there. 

\exit^ hastily ^followed by Agnes and Benedict 

SCENE IV — a wood near ihe casile-^dark, 
enter two servants with torches, 

\st Ser. This must surely be the entry to the path, 
where my lady ordered us to wait for those same 
monks. 

2d Ser. Yes ; I know it well, for yonder is the pos- 
tern. It is the nearest path to the monastery, but nar- 
row and diiBcult. The night is cold ; i hope they will 
not keep us long waiting. 

1st Ser. I heard the s^yund of travellers corning up 
the eastern avenue, and they may linger belike ; for 
monks are marvellously fond of great people and of 
strangers ; at least the good fathers of our mgnastery 
acre. 



36 THE [Bailli^ 

2d Spfv. Ay, m their late prior's time, they lived 
like lords themselves ; and they are not very humble 
at present. But there's light from the postern : here 
they come. 

enter benedict, leonora disguised like a monk^ 
and AG^Es with a peasants cloak thrown over her, 

Leo. It is v^^ell thought of, good Benedict. Go thou 
before me to gain brother Baldwin, in the first place ; 
and I'll wait without on the spot we have agreed upon, 
until I hear the signal. 

Ben. Thou comprehendest me completely, brother ; 
so god speed us both ! — torch-man, go thou with me. 
This is the right path, I trust ? 

\st Serv. Fear not, father ; I know it well. 

[exit Benedict and \st servant 

Leo. (to Agnes ^ while she waves her hand to 2d 
servant to retire to a greater distance) After I am ad- 
mitted to the monastery, fail not to wait for me at the 
mouth of the secret passage. 

Jgn. Fear not : Benedict has described it so mi- 
nutely, I cannot fail to discover it. 

Leo. What steps are those behind us ? somebody 
following us from the castle ? 

enter 3d servant in haste, 

3d Serv. There are travellers arrived at the gate, 
and desire to be admitted for the night. 

Leo, In an evil hour they come. Return, dear Ag- 
nes, and receive them. Benighted strangers, no doubt. 
Excuse my absence any how : go quickly. 

Agn. A nd leave you to proceed alone ? 

Leo, Care not for me : there is an energy within 
me now, that bids defiance to fear, (beckons to 2d ser- 
vant, who goes out before her with the torch, and exit) 

Agn. The evil spirit hath brought travellers to us at 
this moment : but Til send them to their chambers 
right quickly, and join her at the secret passage, not- 
withstanding, lexeitni 

END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



Act Hi} BREAM *K 

ACT IIL 

SCENE I — the, prisonchamher of the monastery — o*- 
TERLOo is discovered, sitting in a bending posture^ 
with his clenched hands pressed upon his knees and 
his eyes fixed on the ground^ JaROM e standing by him* 

Jer, Nay, sink not thus, my son ; the nnercy of 
heaven is infinite. Let other thoughts enter thy soul ; 
let penitence and devotion subdue it. 

Ost. Nothing but one short moment of division be- 
tween this state of humanity arid th^t which is to fol- 
low ! the executioner lets fall his axe, and the dark veil is 
rent ; the gulf is uncovered ; the regions of anguish 
are before me. 

Jer, My son, my son ! tWs miist not be ; thine im- 
agination overpowers thy devotion. 

Ost, The dead are there ; and what welcome shall 
the murderer receive from that assembled host ? olt 
the terrible form that stalks forth to meet me ! the 
stretching out of that hand ! the greeting of that hor- 
rible smile ! and it is thou, who must lead me before 
the trenaendous majesty of my offended maker ! incom- 
prehensible and dreadful ! what thoughts can give ati 
image of that which overpowers all thought ! [clasp- 
tng his hands tightly over his head, and bending him- 
self almost to the ground) 

Jer, Art thou entranced ? art thou asleep ? art thou 
«till in those inward agonies o/ imagination ? {touching 
him softly) Speak to me. 

Ost, (starting vp) Are they come for me ? they shall 
not yet : Til strangle the first man that lays hold of me, 
{grasping Jerome by the throat) 

Jer, Let go your hold, my lord ; J did but touch'' 
you gently to rouse you from your stupor. {Osterloo 
lets go his hold, and Jerome shrinks to a distance) 

Ost, I have grasped thee, then, too roughly. Bufc 
shrink not from me thus. Strong men have fallen by 
my arm, but a child might contend with me now. 
{throwing himself back again into his chair.and bnrst'- 
hig into tears) 
D 



3& THli [Baiirie 

JtT, Forgive me, my son, there was a wildness in 
jour eyes that made me afraid. 

Ost, Thou need'st not be afraid : thou art a good man, 
and hast days of life still before thee ; thou need'st not 

be afraid. But, as thou art a good man, speak to 

me, i conjure thee, as a man, not as a monk : answer 
me as the true sense and reason of a man doth con- 
vince thee. 

«/er. 1 will, my son. 

Osi. Dost thou in truth believe, that the very instant 
after life has left the body, we are forthwith awake and 
conscious in the world of spirits ? no intermediate state 
of slumbering ingensibility between ? 

Jcr, It is indeed my belief. Death is btit a short 
though awful pass ; as it were a winking of the eyes 
for a moment. We shut them in this world and open 
them in the next : and there we open them with such 
increased vividness of existence, that this life, in com- 
parison, will appear but as a state of slumber and of 

dreams. But wherefore dost thoo cross thine arms 

so closely on thy breast, and coil thyself together so 
wretchedly ? what is the matter, my son ? art thou in 
bodily anguish ? 

Osi. The chilly night shoots icy celdness through me. 

</er, O regard not the poor feelings of a flesly frame, 
which thou so soon must part withal : a little time will 
now put an end to every thing that nature can endure. 

Ost. Ha ! how soon ? has the bell struck again since 
I listened to it last ? 

Jer. No ; but it will soon strike, and day break is at 
hUnd. Rouse ye then, and occupy the few minutes that 
remain in acts of devotion becoming thine unhappy 
slate. O, my son, pour out thy soul in penitent pray- 
ers to an offended but merciful god. We, too, will 
pray for thee. Months, nay years after thy death, 
masses shall be said for the repose of thy soul, that it 
may at last be received into bliss. O my unhappy 
son ! pour forth thy spirit to god ; and let thy prayers 
also ascend to our blessed saint and martyr, who will 
intercede for thee. 

Oh, I cannot ; 1 have not thoughts for prayer.—- 



Act III] DREAM 39 

The gulf yawns before me—the unknown, the un- 
bounded, the unfathomable ! — prayers ! prayers ! what 
prayers hath despair ? 

Jer, Hold, hold, refractory spirit ! this obstinacy is 
destruction. 1 must call in brother Bernard to as- 
sist me : I cannot be answerable alone, in a service of 
such infinite moment. {exit 

(after a pause^ in which Oslerloo seems absorbed in the 
stupor of despair^ enter leonora disguised] 

Leo. (coming eagerly forward^ and then stopping 
short to look at Ai;72)There is some mistake in this : it 

is not Gsterloo. —It is, it is ! but oh, how changed \ 

thy hand, great god ! has been upon him. {going clo- 
ser to him) Osterloo ; Osterloo. 

Ost. I hear thee, father. 

Leo. (throwiv^g aside her disguise) O no ! it is no 
father. Lift up thine eyes and see an old friend be- 
fore thee, with deliverance in her band, {holding out 
a key) 

Ost, {looking up wildly) Is it a sound in my ears, 
or did any one say deliverance ? {gazing on her) y/hat 
thing art thou ? a form of magic or delusion ? 

Leo, Neither, count Osterloo ; but an old friend, 
bringing this key in her hand for thy deliverance. Yet 
much I fear thou hast not strength enough to rise and 
follow rce. 

Osi. {bounding from his seat) I have strength for 
any thing if there be deliverance in it. — Where go we? 
they will be upon us immediately, 

Leo. {liftm^ a srj^all lamp from g. tafile and hold- 
ing it to examine the opposite wall) The door, as he 
discribed it, is to the right of a small projection of the 
wall. — Here — here it is ! (opens a small door, and 
beckons Osterloo to follow her) 

Ost, Yes, blessed being ! I will follow thee. — Ha! 
they are coming ! (strides hastily to the dooty while 
Leonora holds tip the lamp to light him into ity and 
then going in herself locks the door) 

SCENE II — an old ruinous vault, with a strong grated 
door on one s\de, through which the mo on- beams are 



^0 THE {Baiil?^ 

gleaming — on the other side, an old winding stair- 
case, leading from the upper ranges of the monas- 
tery, from which a feeble light is seen, increasing 
ly degrees — and presently leonora appears, de- 
scending the stair s with a lamp in her hand^folloxo- 
ed 5y OSTERLOO — as she enters, something on the 
Vjall catches her robe^ and she turns round to disen- 
tangle it, bending her face close to the light. 
Ost. {stopping to assist her, and then gazing on her) 
Thou art something I have known and loved some- 
where, though it has passed away from my mind with 

all my better thoughts. Great power of heaven ! art 

thou Leonora ? 

Leo, Dost thou know me now ? 
Ost, I do, I do ! my heart knew thee before, but ray 
memory did not. (kneeling and kissing both her 
hands) And so it i^ to thee — thou whom I first loved — 
pardon me, pardon me ! — thou whom I loved and dared 
not love ; — thou from whom I fled to be virtuous— thoa 
art my deliverer. Oh ! had I never loved another af- 
ter thee, it had been well.-- — Knowest thou it is a mur- 
derer thou art saving? 

Leo. Say no niore of this ; I know thy story, and I 

came 

Ost, O ! thou camest like a blessed spirit to deliver 
tne from many horrors. 1 was terribly beset : thou 
bast snatched me from a tremendous brink. 

Leo, I hope so, if this key prove to be the right one, 
Ost, (alarmed) Dost thou doubt it? 
Leo. It seems to me smaller than it ought to be, 
when I consider that massive door. 

Ost, Give it me. (snatches the key from her^ and 
runs to the door — then turns the key in the lock, a?id 
finding it too small, stamps with his feet, thro^ws it 
from him, and holds up his clenched hands in despair) 
Leo, Oh. cross fate ! but I'll return again for the right 
one. Baldwin cannot be so wicked as to deceive me, 
and Benedict is still on the watch, near the door of the 
prison-chamber. Stay here till I return, (she ascends 
the stairs, whilst Osierloo leans his back to the.xcaUy 
with impatient agitation—a ball tolls — Osterloo ^tarts 



Act ni] DREAM U 

from his place, and Leonora descends, and re-enters) 

Leo. On ! 1 cannot go now : that bell tolls to warn 
them to the great hall ; I shall meet them on their way 
What is to be done ? the strength of three men could 
not force that heavy door, and thou art feeble and spent, 

Ost. (running furious 1 1/ to the door) Despair has 
strength for any thing, (seizes hold of the door, and^ 
making two or three terrible efforts^ bursts it open) 

Leo, Supernatural strength has assisted thee : now 
thou art free, {as Osterloo and Leonora are about to 
pass on through the door^ fVovelreid and three sol- 
diers appear in the porch beyond it, and oppose their 
passage) 

fVov, Hold ! we are the prior's soldiers, and will 
suffer no prisoner to escape. 

Ost, Those who dare prevent me ! (wrests a sword 
from one of the soldiers, and forces his way past them 
all, they not daring to pursue him-^when (Vovelreid 
seizing on Leonora, she calls out) 

Leo, O let me pass ! and I'll reward you nobly. 

Ost. (returning to rescue Leonora) Let go thine un 
hallowed grasp. 

Leo, For heaven's sake care not for me ! save thyself 
— save thyself! 1 am in no danger. Turn not again to 
fight, when such terrible odds are against thee. 

Ost, I have arms in my hand now, and my foes are be- 
fore me! (fghts fiercely again, till Morand, with a band 
of soldiers, entering the porch behind him, he is over- 
powered and secured — Leonora sinks down in a swoon) 

I^Vov, Give me a rope. We mast bind him secure- 
ly ; for the devil has put the strength of ten men into 
him, though, but half an hour ago, his face was as 
•pale as a moon-light icicle, and he could scarcely walk 
without being supported. 

Mor, Alas, alas ! his face has returned to its former 
color ; his head sinks on his breast, and his limbs are a- 
gain feeble and listless. I would rather see him fight 
ing like a fiend than see him thus. 

fVov, Let us move him hence ; would'st thou stop 
t(> laoient over him ? 



# THE tBaillie 

Blor* It was base work in Baldwin to betray their plot 
to the prior, for he took their money first Til be sworn. 

IVov, He had betrayed the prior then, and all the 
community besides. 

Mor, Weil, let us move him hence: this is no busi- 
ness of ours, [exeunt Morand^ Wovelreid and sol- 
diers ^ heading out Osterloo 
^Titer AGNES by the grated door, and discovers Leono^ 
ra on the ground. 

Agn. O holy virgin on the ground, fainting and ill! 
have the barbarians left her thus? (chafing her temples 
^nd hand) she begins to revive. It is me, my dearesl^ 
lady : look up and see me : those men are all gone. 

Leo, And Osterloo with them ? 

Agn* Alas, he is. 

Leo. It is fated so. Let me lie where I am ; I can- 
not move yet, my good Agnes. 

Agn. Nay, do not yet despair of saving the count 

Leo, {starting up and catching hold of her ea- 
^gerly) How so ? is it possible ? 

Agn. The travellers arrived at the castle, are the 
imperial ambassador ancj his train. Night overtook 
them on the mountains, and they are now making 
jnerry in the hall. 

Leo. Thank heaven for this ! providence has sent 
Kim hither. Til go to him instantly, and conjure hin> 
to interpose his authority to save the life of Osterloo. 
Representing his liege lord, the emperor, the prior 
dare not disobey his commands, and the gates of the 
inonastery will be opened at his calL Who comes 
here ? let us go. 

re enter m grand. 

Mor. (to Leonora) You are revived again : I ani 
glad so see it. Pardon me, lady, that I forgot you in 
your extremity, and let me conduct you safely to the 
castle. 

Leo. I thank you ; but my servants are without, — 
Let me go. Dont follow me, I pray you. 

J\Jor. Let me support you through the porch, and 
Pllleave you to their care, since you desire it. 

\extunt Leonora, supported by Morand and A^n'^ 



Act III] DREAM 43 

$CENE III — a grand hall ^prepared for the execution — 

soldiers are discovered drawn up on each side of 

the scaffold^ with benkdict and several of tht 

MO SKS front — a bell tolls at measured intervals, with 

a deep pause between — after which enter mokand^ 

hauijing his head sorrowfully. 

Ben, Is he come forth ? 

\st Monk. Hast thou seen him ? 

Mor. They are leading him hither, but they move 
slowly. 

\st Monk, Thou hast seen him then ; how does he 
look now ? 

Mor. I cannot tell thee. These few hours have 
done on him the work of many years : he seems broken 
and haggarded with age, and his quenched eyes are fix- 
ed in their sockets, like one who walks in slee-p. 

Ben, Alas, alas ! how changed in little time the bold 
and gallant Osterloo ! 

\st Monk. Have I not told thee, Morand, that fear 
will sometimes couch under the brazen helmet as weTl 
as the woolen cowl ? 

Mor. Fear dost thou cail it ! set him this moment 
in the field of battle, with death threatening him from 
a hundreed points at once, and he would brave it most 
valiantly. 

Ben. (preventing \st Monk from answering) • 

Hush, brother! be not so warm, good lieutenant; we 
believe what thou sayest most perfectly. The bravest 
mind is capable of fear, though it fears no mortal 
man. A brave man fears not man , and an innocent 
and brave man united, fears nothing. 

Mor. Ay, now you speak reason : call it fear then 
if you will.— But the prior comes ; kt us go to our 
places, {they arrange themselves — and ihev enter the 
PRIOK, with a train 0/* monks, who liketvise arrange 
themselves — a pause, in which the bell tolls as before^ 
and enter osterloo, supported by jkrome and 
PAUL, wovELREiD, and soldiers following) 

Prior. Count Osterloo ; in obedience to the will of 
heaven, for our own preservation, and the just punish- 
inent of guilt, I ara compelled with the monks of thr^ 



M THE [Baillie 

nionaslery over wliom I preside, to see duly executed 
within the time prescribed, this dismal act of retribu- 
tion — You have, I trust, with the help of these holy 
men, as well as a few short moments v/ould allow, 
closed your mortal account with heaven : if there be 
aught that rests upon your mind, regarding worldly 
concerns which you leave behind you unsettled, let me 
know your last will, and it shall be obeyed, {to Jerome^ 
after pausing for an answer) Dost thou think he under- 
stands me ? 

Jer. Did you hear, my son, what the prior has been 
saying to you ? 

OsL I heard w^ords through a multitude of sounds. 

Jer. It was the prior, desiring to know if you have 
any wishes to fulfil regarding worldly affairs, left be- 
hind you unsettled. — Perhaps to your soldiers you may. 

Ost. (interrupting Mm eagerly and looking wildly 
round) My soldiers ! are they here ? 

Jer. Ah^ no ! they are not here ; they are housed 
for the night in their distant quarters : they will not b^ 
here till the setting of to morrow's sun. 

Ost, (groaning deeply) To-morrow's sun ! 

Jero is there any wish you would have conveyed to 
them? are there any of your officers to whom yoa 
would send a message or token of remembrance ? 

Ost, Ye spe&k again imperfectly, through many ring- 
ing soundsc 

(Jerome repe<its (he question in a slow distinct voice) 

Ost, Ay there is : these, these- (endeavoring to 

tear off his cincture and some military ornaments^ 
from his dress) I cannot hit upon these fastenings. 

Jer. We'll assist you, my son. {undoing his cinc- 
ture or girdle^ Sfc ) 

Ost, (still endeavoring to do it himself) My sword 

loo, and my daggers. My last remembrance to 

them both 

Jer, To whom, my lord ? 

Ost. Both— all of them. 

Ben, {who has kept sorrowfully at some distance^ 
now approaching eagerly) Urge him no more ; his 
-officers will themselves know what names he woul^ 



Act IIIJ DREAM 45 

have ufetered. (turning to Osterloo with an altered 
voice) Yes, noble count ; they shall be given as you 
desire with your farewell affection to all your bra?^^ 
followers. 

Ost, I thank ye. 

Jer. And this is all ? 

Ost, Nay, nay ! 

Ben. What is there besides ? 

Prior, There is too much of this : and some sudder^ 
rescue may prevent us. 

Ben. Nay, reverend father, there is no fear of this : 
you would not cut short the last words of a dying man ? 

Prior. And must I be guided by thy admonitions ? 
beware ; though Baldwin has not named thee, I know 
it is thou who art t^e traitor. 

Ben. There is but one object at present to be 
thought of, and with your leave, reverend father, I will 
not be deterred from it. (to Osterloo again in a xoic^ 
of tenderness) What is there besides^ noble Osterloo, 
ihat you would wish us to do ? 

Ost, There is something. 

Ben What is it, my lord? 

Ost, I wot not. 

Ben Then let it rest. 

Ost. Nay, nay ! this — this [pulling a ring from 

his finger which falls on the ground) My hands will 
hold nothing. 

Ben, I have found it ; and what shall I do with it ? 

Ost, {in a faint hurried xoice) Leonora — Leonora. 

Bm, I understand you, my lord. 

Prior, \ am under the necessity, count Osterloo, of 
saying, your time is run to its utmost limit : let us call 
upon you now for your last exertion of nature. These 
good brothers must conduct you to the scaffold. — (Je- 
rome and Paul support him towards the scaffold^ while 
Benedict retires to a distance^ and turns his hack to it) 

Jer. Rest upon me, my son, you have but a few 
paces to go. 

Ost, The ground sinks under me ; my feet tread 
upon nothing. 

Jer. We are now at the foot of the scaffold, an4 



^6 THE rBaiUic 

there are two steps to mount ; lean upon m; more 
firmly. 

Ost. {stumbling) It is dark ; I cannot see. 

Jer. Alas, my son ! there is a blaze of torches round 
you. (after they are on the scaffold) Now, in token 
of thy faith in heaven, and forgiveness of all men, 
raise up thy clasped hands, (seeing Osterloo make a 
feeble effort, he raises them for him in a posture of 
devotion) And now to heaven's mercy we commit thee. 
(Jerome and Paul retire^ and two executioners prepare 

him for the bhck^ and assist him to kneel— he then 

lays dozen his head, and they hold his hands while 

a third executioner stands with the raised axe) 

\st Ex> (speaking close to his ear) Press my hand 
when you are ready for the stroke, (a long pause)—- 
He gives no sign. 

2d Ex. Stop, he will immediately, (a second panose) 
Does he not ? 

1st Ex, No. 

Prior, Then give the stroke without it. (3d execu- 
tioner prepares to give the stroke, when the I3iperia l 
AMBASSADOR rushcs into the hall, followed by leo- 
^"0RA and a ones, and a numerous train) 

Am, Stop the e.xecution ! in the name of your liege 
lord the emperor, I command you to stop upon your 
peril. My lord prior, this is a treacherous and clan- 
destine use of your seignorial power. This noble 
servant of our imperial master — (pointing to Osterloo) 
1 take under my protection ; and you must first deprive 
an imperial ambassador of life, ere one hair of his head 
fa* ^o the ground. 

Ben, [running to the scaffold) Up, noble Osterloo! 
rai^e up thy head ; thou art rescued ; thou art free. 

Leo, Rise, noble Osterloo ! dost thou not know the 
voice that calls thee ? 

Ben He moves not ; he is in a swoon. (rahes 

Osterloo from the block whilst Leonora bends over 
hmi xCith anxious tenderness) 

Leo, He is ghastly pale ; yet it surely can be but a 
swoon Chafe his hands, good Benedict, while I bathe 
Jus temples, (iifter trying to resiqre him) Oh, no. 



AcClIl] '^^*^\rEAM 17 

no ! no change takes place. What thinkest thoa of 
it ? is there any life here ? 

Ben. In truth I know not ; this seems to me the 
fixed ghastly visage of complete death. 

Leo, Oh, no, no! he will be restored. No stroke 
has fallen upon him : it cannot be death. Ha ! is not 
that something ? did not his lips move ? 

Ben. No, lady ; you but deceive yourself: they 
moved not : they are closed for ever. 

Leo. {wringing her hands) Oh it is so ! it is so ! 
after all thy struggles and exertions of despair, this is 
thy miserable end ! alas, alas ! thou who didst bear thy 
crest so proudly in many a well-fought field ; this is 
thy miserable end! (turning away and hiding her 
face in the bosom of Agnes) 

Am. [examining the body more closely) I^^ think, in 
very truth he is dead. 

1^^ Gentleman of his train. Yes ; the face never 
looks thus, till every spark of life is extinguished. 

Am. (turning fiercely to the prior) How is this^ 
prior ? what sorcery has been here, that your block 
alone shortld destroy its victim, when the stroke of the 
axe has been wanting ? what account shall 1 carry to 
my master of the death of his gallant general ? 

Prior, No sorcery hath been practised on the de- 
ceased : his own mind has dealt with him alone, and 
produced the effects you behold. And, when you re- 
turn to Lewis of Bavaria your master ; tell him that 
his noble general, free from personal injury of any 
kind, died, within the walls of this monastery, of fear. 

Am. Nay, nay, my good prior ; put the fooPs cap 
on thine own head, and tell him this tale thyself. — 
Fear ! Osterloo and fear coupled together ! when the 
lion and the fawn are found couching in the same lair, 
we will believe this. 

Prior. All the brothers of the order will attest it. 

Am. Away with the testimony of your cowled wit- 
nesses! {beckoning Morand to come near) Morand, 
thou art a brave fellow ; I have known thee of old.— 
Thou art the prior's officer indeed ; but thou art now 
^der my prgtectionv and shalt be received into the em- 



4g T^HE DREAM tBaillie 

peror's service with encreased rank : speak the truth 
then, boldly ; how died count Osterloo ? 

3tor. In very truth then, my lord, according to my 
simple thoughts, he died even as the prior has told you. 

Am, Out upon thy hireling's tongue ! art thou not 
ashamed, thyself wearing a soldier's garb, to blast a 
soldier's fame ? there is no earthly thing the brave 
Osterloo was ever known to fear, 

Mor, You say true, my lord ; and on my sword'5 
point I'll maintain it against any man as stoutly as 
yourself. But here is a pious monk who will explain 
to you what I should speak of but lamely. 

Jer, With the prior's permission, my lord, if yoU 
will retire with me a little while, I'll inform you of this 
inysterious event, even simply as it happened. And 
perhaps you will then confess, that, called upon sudden- 
ly, under circumstances impressing powerfully the im- 
agination, to put off this mortal frame, and stand forth 
in that tremendous presence, before which this globe, 
with all its mighty empires, hangs but as a crisped rain- 
drop, shivering on the threaded gossamer ; the bravest 
mind may, if a guilty one, feel that within which is too 
powerful for human nature to sustain. 

Am. Explain it as thou wilt ; I shall listen to thee ; 
but think not to cheat our imperial master of his re- 
venge for the loss of his gallant general. I shall not 
fail, my lord prior, to report to him the meek spirit of 
your christian authority, which has made the general 
weal of the community subservient to your private re-, 
venge ; and another month, I trust, shall not pass over 
Our heads, till a worthier man (pointing to Benedict) 
shall possess this power which you have so greatly 
abused. Let the body be removed, and laid in solemn 
state, till it be delivered into the hands of those brave 
troops, who shall inter it with the honors of a soldier. 



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